


You've Got My Heartbeat Runnin' Away

by softrockstars



Category: Actor RPF, Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softrockstars/pseuds/softrockstars
Summary: FEELINGS: An Accidental Love Story.(Or: boy with lots of feelings meets boy with lots of feelings.)





	

**one.**

Here are a few things that become quickly evident:

Taylor is not very good at lying (unless it’s by omission),

and

Jonathan is not much better at lying (unless it’s by omission),

and 

they exist in very different spheres and, after sneaking around and hooking up with relative privacy for weeks and months, when they make the executive decision to talk about it, to tell the people who orbit their respective universes about it, it certainly piques curiosity about how their paths had even intersected in the first place.

Something else that becomes evident: coming up with new meet-cute stories becomes a fun way to fuck with their friends, particularly because neither Jonathan nor Taylor can ever seem to keep their lies straight anyway. 

“At a party,” Taylor says vaguely, when Adam Henrique asks casually before practice one morning, Devante Smith-Palley totally not eavesdropping from three stalls down.

 ** _Through a friend of a friend of a frenemy of a friend_** , Jonathan texts Phillipa Soo, and then adds a string of ghost and turkey emojis, plus two eggplants and a tiny car for good measure. ( ** _What does that even mean_** , she texts back almost immediately. **_EMOJIS HAVE TO MEAN SOMETHING GROFF._** )

“He was at this, like, electronic music festival a few summers ago,” Taylor tells his cousin when she asks, years later at their other _other_ cousin’s wedding, where the two of them are totally bonding over how bad the DJ’s wedding playlist is, and what they both suspect is watered-down beer. “And then we kept in touch.”

“We’re in the same running group,” Jonathan says sleepily, when Lin forgets about time zones again and calls him in the middle of the night from England. “He’s really fast.”

“There was this charity event,” Taylor says to Parenteau’s sister; she just kind of dreamy-sighs and asks what Jonathan smells like. 

The next time Jonathan has drinks with Raúl Castillo while in New York City, Jonathan launches into an outlandish and ridiculous story that has a beginning, middle, and end, with Taylor showing up about two-thirds of the way through, and none of it making any sense at all. Raúl, being Raúl, just laughs, fondly tells Jonathan that he’s full of shit, orders them another round.

“...church?” Taylor lies badly to Ryan Whitney in a moment of blind panic.

(“Groff told me you met through a Grindr sting,” Ryan informs Taylor. “Whatever that means.”

“Uh, sure,” Taylor says. “A church Grindr sting.”

“That’s not a thing. Do you even know what a church _is_ , you pigeon?”)

“So I think we might just be really bad at lying,” Taylor says on the phone, stretched out on his couch in his New Jersey condo with the amazing view.

Jonathan laughs, his voice warm across the line from New York City or Pennsylvania or Los Angeles, or wherever he is at the moment, and Taylor can’t help but wish he were here right now. “You’re not wrong. Luckily, there are tons of things we _are_ good at.”

“Yeah, like sex-having,” Taylor says, half kind of seriously and half to make Jonathan laugh again.

Jonathan does indeed laugh again, harder this time. “That’s true. We’re very good at sex-having.”

Taylor sits up straighter on the couch, tries not to sound too hopeful: “We could do that right now? Since we’re so good at it, I mean.”

“Absolutely,” Jonathan says fondly. There’s a moment of silence, some rustling, and then he’s back again. “So. What are you wearing?” 

 

**two.**

It’s early days, the fourth or fifth time they’ve hooked up, this time in Pittsburgh, because this guy who Taylor’s been sort of hanging out with, despite himself, seems to have a gig and a nice rental there. If anything, it's a nice distraction from pretending not to give a shit about how the Oilers’ season has been going, and how they're doing it without him.

The guy, _Jonathan_ , had said that he was a working actor, but hasn’t really talked about his projects in a cohesive way, like he’s content to be anonymous-ish around Taylor; he also knows that Taylor plays hockey professionally but he seems content to let Taylor take the lead in filling in the details. If he’s looked Taylor up on the internet, he hasn’t mentioned, and Taylor kind of weirdly appreciates that. 

Taylor and Jonathan’s _thing_ has been pretty casual and private, which Taylor’s down with, a few notches over sneaking around, sometimes in Jonathan’s super nice New York apartment, and that one unforgettable time when Jonathan had responded to Taylor’s drunken booty call and actually showed up for what had ended up being a gloriously sex-fuelled weekend in Hoboken.

This time, the Devils are spending a couple days in Pennsylvania for their back-to-back against the Flyers and the Penguins. In Pittsburgh, Taylor and Jonathan meet up and go out for drinks: one, two, six, before stumbling back to Jonathan’s (“I’m supposed to be staying at a hotel. I’ve got a roommate, you probably don’t want to come back to mine,” Taylor says, his words slurring only a little as they wait for a cab, Jonathan swaying against his side), and it’s nice and familiar and fun and there’s skin-to-skin contact, before the night suddenly takes a turn for the weird, when Jonathan suddenly gets an odd look on his face, pushes Taylor away, and races for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

The gears in Taylor’s semi-sloshed brain turn slowly as he processes the situation before figuring out exactly what has happened. He stands up, padding his way over to the bathroom in his boxers. He leans against the closed door, suspicions confirmed by the retching that he hears from the other side. 

He knocks, once, twice. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Please go away,” is the muffled answer, followed by more retching and then a flush.

Taylor tries the door knob—unlocked—and makes the drunkenly executive decision to do exactly the opposite of what is requested. “Nope, coming in.”

“Fuck,” Jonathan mumbles tragically, head resting on folded arms over the toilet. “It’s fine. Go away, I really don’t want you here right now.”

Taylor shrugs, spies a water glass on the ledge of the sink, which he fills with cold water and sets beside Jonathan. Admittedly, everything about this situation is kind of weird, but then again, three years of junior hockey and two summers at the World Cup with Matt Duchene has put him in far weirder situations. He thinks about rubbing Jonathan’s back, but he’s pretty sure that would not be welcome right now. Taylor settles for sitting on the edge of the bathtub instead, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. “Dude, one time I threw up all over a hotel lobby in St Louis when I was _sober_ and then told people about it on national TV, you’re really not grossing me out or whatever. Plus this,” —he gestures at Jonathan— “isn’t anything that hasn’t happened at least a few times with the boys, or even me if I’m being honest. We’ve all had too much to drink at some point.”

“You went out on a date with someone, brought them home, and then started puking everywhere?” Jonathan says. “That sounds like bullshit.”

“This was a date?” Taylor says, brain-to-mouth filter temporarily short-circuiting.

Jonathan groans, risks turning to glare at Taylor. “Are we having this conversation right now? _Really_?”

“Well,” Taylor says, thinking. “I mean, if that’s what this was, it’s not the _worst_ way it could have ended. You know, one other time, me and my buddy Ebs, when we were living together, we tried to have a threesome with this girl? Ebby’d been together with Lauren forever but then they were off and on again. When they were off for like three months, me and him went out and ended up bringing a total rocket home? But I, like, drank too much and totally spent it neck deep in the toilet while they boned. So I totally feel you right now, bro. It happens. Shit like this wouldn’t stop me from, uh, you know. Going on another date. Just saying.”

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” Jonathan says, somewhere between bemused and miserable, reaching for the water glass. He drinks the water, spilling it mostly down the front of his shirt, and then seems to give up, sprawling bonelessly out on the bathroom floor. “But thank you. That was weirdly sweet in a really terrible kind of way.”

Taylor squints at him. “Uh. Do you want me to carry you to your bed? I totally could too, I bet. But there’d probably be a lot of swaying and you’d hurl again maybe.”

“You should probably just leave me here to die,” is the muttered response from the Jonathan-shaped lump on the floor.

Shrugging, Taylor makes his way to the bedroom, grabbing a blanket and a pillow. Back in the bathroom, he gently tucks the pillow under Jonathan’s head and the blanket over his body, before rolling him into the recovery position. He refills the drinking glass and sets it just within reach of Jonathan. 

“I’m too wasted to find a cab back to the hotel so I’m taking your bed instead,” Taylor informs a mostly passed-out Jonathan, who sort of weakly flails a hand in Taylor’s direction as an indicator of acknowledgement. “Please don’t drown in your own puke.”

(When Taylor blinks awake in an unfamiliar and surprisingly cozy bed, the bedside table clock says 4:14 AM; for a moment, he’s disoriented as to what could have possibly woken him up, until he realizes the weight of a comforter and another human draped over him, snoring the obscenely loud snores of a drunken sleep. Taylor shoves at Jonathan to alleviate the rusty chainsaw impression and then rolls over to spoon him properly; closes his eyes again, doesn’t wake again until the sun comes up.)

 

**three.**

It’s a strange Saturday night, with the Devils playing at Madison Square Garden for a Sunday afternoon game, Jonathan back in New York with the weekend off from filming, and Lea up for a visit. In Jonathan’s mind, since everyone was available anyway, this had seemed to be the perfect opportunity to introduce Taylor and Lea, though now that the moment is actually here, Jonathan finds himself thrumming with nervous energy and second-guessing himself as Taylor and Lea warily seize each other up.

Through “nice to meet you” pleasantries, Taylor holds his hand out to shake Lea’s, while she leans in for a cheek kiss instead. The momentary awkwardness that ensues is so ridiculous that Jonathan can’t help but let out a burst of hysterical laughter, startling all of them, and temporarily soothing the whole situation when they both look over to grin sheepishly over at him.

The three of them end up walking into the restaurant together, Jonathan’s hand sweaty and clutching Lea’s while Taylor walks beside him, matching his uneasy gait. 

When Lea spends most of dinner trying to get a rise out of Taylor, Jonathan doesn’t try and stop her, knowing that it’s fruitless to even try when she gets on a roll. Taylor looks confused, bewilderment etched on his face through the appetizers as he just kind of takes it, but he seems to catch on halfway through the main course, and swiftly changes topics to talk up Jonathan and ask about Lea’s life in LA and find out what her favourite things about New Jersey were when she was growing up.

As the night progresses, Lea and Taylor end up bonding over a mutual love for both Rihanna and Matt Bomer (“...did you see his…” “...right?!”), a shared hatred for Toronto Pearson Airport (“...how is it even a thing???!!” they both lament simultaneously), and all the things they both dislike about New Jersey—Jonathan is mostly relieved (and ever so slightly terrified) at how well they seem to be getting on. Lea even offers Taylor a smile without razor-sharp edges when he picks up the tab at the end of the meal. 

Without warning, she puts a small hand on his wrist as he reaches for his coat. He stills, looking at her inquisitively, and she reaches up to touch Taylor’s forehead on the left side instead, just under the hairline. To his credit, Taylor only flinches a little bit.

“Huh,” she says.

“What?” Taylor asks warily.

“Not so much Frankenstein’s monster anymore,” she says. They stare at each other awkwardly for a beat before dissolving into simultaneous awkward chuckling at some implied joke that Jonathan doesn’t understand, but if it means they’re bonding then he decides he doesn’t mind.

That night, a handful of cocktails and a bottle of wine later, Lea banishes Taylor to the couch, taking up the left side of Jonathan’s bed for herself, glaring defiantly at Taylor, who’s hovering awkwardly in the hallway. Taylor looks like he’s going to argue for approximately five point four seconds, before letting his mouth shut with an audible click, kissing each of them on the cheek, and wandering back out to the living room area, pulling the door shut behind him.

“You’re such a cockblock,” Jonathan complains good-naturedly, spooning up against Lea once the lights are off. “You know, this is a really big bed. It’s probably not too late to see if he wants to sleep in here with us too...hey, do you think my couch is large enough for two grown men to spoon all night on it? Would you be offended if I snuck out while you were sleeping?”

“Oh, please,” Lea says dismissively. “A: this is basically my bed too now. You’re not going to kick me out of what’s basically my bed. And B: how dare you even think about leaving me in the middle of the night! For a _boy_!”

Jonathan laughs. “That’s true,” he says. “I would never leave you for a boy.”

“Speaking of,” Lea says, rolling over to squint at him in the dark. “Isn’t he in the closet? I thought you were done with that?”

There’s a pause. “He’s not in the closet exactly,” Jonathan says. “I met his old roommate, Luke? He knows. About Taylor, and about us hanging out. And he’s never, like, denied being into guys even when people say shit about him.”

“But he’s not _not_ in the closet either,” Lea argues. “Look, I don’t not like him. It’s just...you keep dating guys who...don’t seem _proud_ to be with you? I don’t like _that_.”

“We’re not...dating?” Jonathan hedges. “We’re not exclusive or anything either. We just see each other sometimes when we’re free. We eat a lot of take-out and hang out on his couch in Hoboken mostly, and then we fool around. No strings attached. It’s...nice. And fun. We’re having fun.”

Lea gapes at him. “What are you, sixteen?”

Jonathan just laughs again. “It’s a good distraction from all the other shit. We’re keeping it casual. He has this whole routine to ‘Call Me Maybe’ he does in his truck when he’s driving. It’s cute. _He’s_ cute.”

“And _young_. He drives a truck?! Is he even gay?”

“At least half! Plus he’s super flexible!”

She laughs despite herself. “That’s what it always comes down to with you, isn’t it,” she finally says. “For what it’s worth, he’s an adorable kid.”

“He’s not _that_ young!”

“That’s good, because have you _seen_ those lips?” Lea wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Bet you’re into those too!”

Jonathan looks sheepish, but doesn’t deny it. “It’s definitely a perk,” he finally says, burying his face against her shoulder. “We’re just having fun, okay? Nothing more.”

“Well, fine then. He still better treat you good though,” Lea continues, undeterred. “He breaks your heart, I break his face. And his legs!”

She nudges Jonathan with her foot; he nudges her back and pulls her in tighter.

 

**four.**

Taylor’s in the kitchen grabbing two mugs of coffee on a lazy Tuesday morning, their schedules both seeming to synchronize in mornings off, when his phone starts blaring the clean mix of Drake’s “Started From the Bottom” that Smith-Palley keeps giving him shit for, but like, sometimes there are kids around when his phone rings, okay? 

“Can you get that?” Taylor calls over his shoulder, mixing in enough sugar and milk for a double-double.

The music cuts off a moment later, and Taylor goes back to preparing coffee before realizing that he’s just authorized _some guy_ ( _Jonathan, the enthusiastic lay who spent the night again_ , his brain unhelpfully supplies with a dreamy sigh) to pick up his phone first thing in the morning, and makes a break for his bedroom, coffee sloshing messily over the sides of the mugs.

When he gets there, Jonathan’s sitting up in bed with Taylor’s phone pressed to his ear, still wrapped in a thick comforter, looking rumpled and sleepy and bemused. “Uh huh...yeah...yes...” he’s saying, and Taylor’s shoving a coffee mug into Jonathan’s free hand while mouthing _GIMME_. Jonathan tucks the phone between his chin and shoulder and holds up a finger, the universal wait motion, and offers a tired grin at Taylor, which makes Taylor and his traitor brain want to kiss him instead. 

“You know what? Taylor just walked in, so I’m going to put you on speakerphone,” Jonathan says, taking the phone, poking at the screen and tossing the phone on the bed, winking at Taylor.

 _Dammit_ , Taylor thinks. “Uh. Hello?”

“MOM WHAT THE FUCK,” the tinny shout explodes over the phone in lieu of greeting. 

It’s Connor—9 AM eastern standard time, so 7 AM Alberta time, and clearly too early for this shit. What the actual fuck. Taylor rubs his eyes. “What the hell? Devo, that you?!”

Connor seems undeterred, “What about my dad? DID THINK ABOUT YOUR CAPTAIN-SON IN THE GREAT WHITE NORTH?! DAD SAYS YOU LEFT HIM FOR SOME GUY, MOM DO I HAVE TWO DADS NOW?!”

“I keep saying, if anything, _I_ was the _dad_ ,” Taylor says, not entirely successful at making it not sound like a whine.

“Yeah, and gender roles are boring blah blah blah, but it was _your house_ we lived in. So. _Mom_ ,” Connor says, as if that explains everything. “Does that make me a child of divorce? I have _needs_ , you know! The need for supportive parents! Also, who was that on the phone? Was that my new dad? My step-dad?!”

Taylor looks over at Jonathan for help, but Jonathan’s busy shaking with silent laughter, half hidden behind his mug of coffee; Taylor frowns at him, betrayed. “That was Jon,” Taylor finally says. 

“...athan Toews?”

Taylor fights the urge to bash his own head against the bedframe. “Fuck, _stop talking_.”

“Jon...ny Gaudreau?” 

Taylor winces. “You’re grounded. Also, what is _wrong_ with you?!”

“I dunno, you make weird decisions sometimes,” Connor says defensively. Taylor kind of rues the day that Connor decided he was comfortable enough with him and Luke to reveal the true depths of his oddness in the safety and comfort of their shared home, despite his very normal-presenting self in his day-to-day life.

(“Connor McDavid,” Taylor says later, mugs of coffee mostly empty and safely moved to the bedside table. “He was a rookie last year and needed a place to stay, so he moved in with me and Gazzy. He’s a good kid, kind of shy and serious, you know?”

Jonathan raises a sceptical eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything to let Taylor finish.

“Yeah, I know he sounded insane on the phone but he really isn’t like that with most people. Me and Gazzy spent a lot of time trying to get him to come out of his shell last year. He’s got this intensity because he’s such a fucking talented hockey player, but he’s also, you know, a kid. I totally remember what it was like to feel awkward and eighteen, and like you had an entire city counting on you, so we wanted to make sure he had, I dunno. Somewhere he could just kind of be himself and comfortable.”

“A safe space,” Jonathan offers.

“Exactly,” Taylor says. “Kinda went both ways too, I guess. They didn’t care that I brought home bros sometimes.”

Jonathan makes a non-committal noise. “And Connor and uh. Gazzy? Are they…”

“Luke Gazdic? Oh, no, no,” Taylor says. “You’ve met Luke. Super straight, both of them. That I know about anyway. They haven't said, if they’re anything like me.”

“Bisexual?”

Taylor shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, Devo’s really not that next level with most people, honestly. I think the three of us just gelled too good because we ended up creating some sort of weird monster-rookie instead. I’m glad he’s got people he can just be his own total fucking weirdo self around. He’s such a good kid, the new saviour of hockey, really. It’s probably mostly why they decided they didn’t need me anymore.”

“Who’s _they_?”

Taylor flaps a hand around. “You know. _They_. Hockey people. My old team. Chiarelli.”

“I don’t even know who that is, but fuck that guy,” Jonathan says with feeling, reaching a hand over to crumple through Taylor’s hair. “And if you were still there we probably wouldn’t have met. You’d be too busy in Canada. With motherhood. You wouldn’t have had time for me.”

Taylor can’t help but laugh, rolling them both over so that he’s on top of Jonathan, pinning him against the bed; leans down to kiss him.)

 

**five.**

It’s almost two full months into the season when Luke finally makes it back to the big leagues (“I’m back!” he crows, and then holds out a fist for Taylor to bump. “Punching forever!”), after the broken foot in training camp and rehab stint in Albany. He comes over to Taylor’s condo after morning practice, and sits at the breakfast bar making vaguely sympathetic noises, as Taylor recounts the conversation with Connor from the week before. “Why would you tell him I was kinda hanging out with someone?” he complains, even while shoving a large sandwich in Luke’s direction before settling across from him to unwrap his own. “You know how he gets.”

“‘Cuz you kinda are! Didn’t you think our son would want to know that? His parents basically both just got fired and had to move away, it’s a very important time in a young man’s life for transparency!”

It’s a testament to the wonders of the passage of time that the ‘fired’ crack only stings a little. “Why do you encourage him to do that? You know he called and started yelling at Groff about how he’s now a child of divorce with a new step-dad?” 

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Because he’s our son,” he says flatly. “And we don’t lie to our children. I believe that children are the future.” He unwraps his sandwich and takes a big bite. “And is that true? Step-dad, eh? I’m officially replaced?”

It’s Taylor’s turn to side-eye. “You’re straight. You have a girlfriend.”

“How dare you, we raised a very successful child together for a year. Does that mean nothing to you? He does commercials with Mark Messier! And I cooked for you! We cuddled on the couch and watched football! It was very meaningful to me,” Luke deadpans. “But I guess if anyone was going to replace me, Jon’s a good choice. Cool that you picked a famous person kinda—is that why you’re dating?”

“It’s not that serious, we’re just hanging out,” Taylor says. “And I dunno. Is he? I know he acts.”

Luke takes another big bite of sandwich. “Really? How do you not know he’s kind of famous?”

“He didn’t say! Plus I haven’t seen him in anything, if I’m being honest?”

Sitting back in his chair, Luke chews, swallows, puts down his food, and steeples his fingers. “Remember when we’d come home from road trips and my girlfriend was housesitting kinda but probably only agreed to do it for our cable package and we’d all wonder why there was all this gay porn and naked dudes talking about their feelings on our DVR, and she was like ‘it’s not porn, it’s HBO! And it can’t be porn ‘cuz there’s no boners!’? You remember that?”

Taylor thinks about it for a moment. “Kind of? I didn’t _watch any_ of that though!”

“Well,” Luke says. “I did—with her, you know how it is, I am a very supportive boyfriend—and you know who’s in that? Devo’s new step-dad, that’s who.”

“Why do the two of you keep calling him that? Stop encouraging him, Devo’s out of control! Actually what is wrong with both of you?”

Luke ignores him in favour of stretching. “Hey, is Groff a good kisser? I’d like to supportively tell you that he looks like he’d be a good kisser. HBO makes it seem like he is.”

(“You never saw the video?” Lea asks, waving around her phone at Jonathan, her legs tangled with his as they sit on opposite sides of her couch in her New Orleans rental. “You’ve eaten him out but you haven’t watched the video?”

He furrows his brow. “What video?”

“Oh my god, you haven’t!” she says. “Even I knew who Taylor was when you started dating!”

“We’re not dating. And why would I care about professional sports?” Jonathan pauses. “Ohhhh, wait. Does he have a sex tape? He never told me about that!”

“Maybe? But what I’m thinking of is kind of like the total opposite, actually. Do you seriously not know about the time your dumbass boyfriend got his face stepped on?”

Jonathan looks too surprised to correct her. “Wait, like during a hockey game? By a _skate_?!”

“Oh my god,” Lea says again, and grabs her phone to pull up the video and show him. Afterwards, she gently pets his hair when he spends the next ten minutes clutching at her shirt in horror and weeping.)

 

**six.**

It’s sort of an accident that Taylor introduces Jonathan to Ryan Fucking Whitney. Despite all his self-proclaimed misanthropy, Ryan’s always been one of Taylor’s favourite people—a decent housemate, a great friend and teammate, an even better ally. And because he’s gotten used to the way Lea slips in and out of their lives, and always kind of _there_ in her co-dependency with Jonathan, Taylor doesn’t think much of it either when she shows up and joins them for dinner in Chelsea, and then drinks, and then more drinks.

(“I’m not a big drinker? Like, I never drink this much?” Lea says slowly, loudly, and leans fully across the table to ask Ryan to order her another Hot Toddy, which he does. Taylor quirks an eyebrow at Jonathan and takes another pull of his beer.)

It’s kind of possible that he regrets everything, though, when he comes down the hallway and finds Jonathan standing outside his own bedroom later that night. “So,” Jonathan says slowly. “I didn’t even know my bedroom door had a lock, but apparently it locks from the inside.”

Taylor blinks at the closed door and tries the knob for himself. It rattles but doesn’t turn. There’s loud squeaking from inside the room—squeak, squeak, squeak. He turns to Jonathan, wincing. “Oh my god, are they drunk-fucking in your bed?”

“They’re drunk-fucking in my bed,” Jonathan confirms and sighs, like he’s resigned to his fate. “What are we gonna do?”

“I’ll help you burn your sheets tomorrow,” Taylor suggests. “We’ll start a really big fire and we’ll throw in all your sheets and other shit. And…buy you new ones? Or make Whit buy you new ones, eh?”

“Oh, I don’t really care about that,” Jonathan says. “I’m still just not sure the couch is big enough for two people to sleep on and I don’t wanna sleep on the floor, is all.”

Taylor looks surprised. “That’s all you’re concerned about?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “‘course. Lea can do whatever she wants. She’s very independent. I trust her to make good choices.”

“Good choices? She’s in there with _Whit_! In your bed!”

“Where were they going to sleep, on the street? Plus, he’s _your_ friend!” He stares at Taylor, suddenly all wide-eyed sincerity. “Do you...do you not think he’s a good guy? Is he trying to tarnish her virtue?!”

Taylor squints at him for a moment, long enough for Jonathan to crack into a mischievous grin. Taylor pushes at Jonathan’s shoulder, trying not to smile. “You’re such a non, dude.”

Jonathan tips his head to the side quizzically. “What’s a non?”

“A non-beauty.”

“And what’s that?”

“The opposite of a beauty,” Taylor explains.

“That explains fuck all,” Jonathan says solemnly. “You don’t think I’m beautiful?

Unable to contain himself, Taylor grins, endeared, and pulls Jonathan toward the couch; kisses him, tugs at Jonathan’s belt. “Totally not what that means at all. Wanna go see if we actually can both fit on your couch for the night instead?”

“You didn’t even answer my question,” Jonathan grumbles, but leads Taylor to the couch anyway.

(They don’t fit, not really, but they make it work, octopus limbs plied loose with liquor tangled and on the verge of spilling onto the hardwood floor as they spoon up tight against each other, Jonathan sprawled more on Taylor than couch, both of them too warm and sleepy to go beyond sloppy making out; all in all, not such a bad night.)

 

**seven.**

Jordan won’t be going to the All-Star game this year; due to a weird turn of events, neither will Taylor. They don’t really get much of a chance to see each other when the Devils roll through Edmonton—Taylor swears he’s not avoiding Jordan and their old haunts, but Taylor’s just _so bad at lying_ ( _unless it’s by omission_ , Jordan’s brain unhelpfully supplies)—nor when the Oilers blow quickly through New Jersey. Jordan spends the week trying not to think about how weird it is to face off against and cover Taylor instead of passing him the puck tape to tape.

So it almost surprises him when it’s Taylor who ends up calling first, complaining loudly about Jordan’s backchecking, and his own sore joints, and how Connor had almost crossed centre ice to gleefully tackle Taylor and Luke during warm ups in excitement, followed by the kicked puppy look on his face when he realized a moment later that he really shouldn't.

“Super glad to have tomorrow off for maintenance shit,” Taylor says, when Jordan asks if everything’s okay. “Tweaked something in practice and since we could actually make the playoffs this year, we’re taking precautions, you know? I have, like, old man knees now.”

Jordan can almost picture Taylor shrugging, stretched out on the couch with a drippy, half-melted bag of ice on his fucked up knees, simultaneously scrolling mindlessly through his Netflix while talking to Jordan on the phone. He says as much, and Taylor laughs, warm and familiar, and suddenly, Jordan misses him very much.

“Hey, you got plans for the break?” Taylor asks suddenly, changing the subject. “Gazzy won’t be around, he’s going to Cabo with some of the boys, I think. But do you wanna come down to Jersey for a few days? Bring Lauren, if she can get the time off, I mean? I could show you my new digs and we could hang out. Saturday for the boys, you know? Well, and Lauren.”

Taylor might be missing him just as much; Jordan is very tempted to say yes. “That could be fun. Can’t we go somewhere warmer, though?”

“You live in northern Alberta! Jersey in January is like a tropical paradise in comparison,” Taylor points out.

“Still cold though,” Jordan argues. “I’m not saying no, I’m just saying that there are nicer, _warmer_ places to go on vacation than Rutherford.”

“I live in Hoboken,” Taylor says.

“You’re really not selling this,” Jordan says. “What’s the real reason?”

Taylor sighs. There’s a _thunk_ , like a remote has been put down. Undivided attention: this must be serious. “Okay, real talk,” he finally says. “It’s not a big deal or whatever, but I’m kind of...hanging out with someone? Like, don’t make a big deal out of it because it’s not serious or anything but it’s like...long distance, you know? Since we both travel a lot. And it’s a stupid coincidence because they’re actually going to be around too during the break. So I...kinda wanna be here for that? And if you’re free too, I just thought…”

“...you want us to meet your new girlfriend?” Jordan says, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice, because surprise would not be conveying support, and Jordan prides himself in being a supportive guy and good friend to Taylor.

“Not girlfriend,” Taylor says immediately. “More like...well. Uh.” There’s a pause. “His name’s Jonathan,” he finally mumbles. 

This time, Jordan’s completely taken aback. “What? 

“ _Jonathan_ ,” Taylor repeats a little louder. “Is that a problem?”

Jordan thinks about this for a moment. “No, of course not, I’m just surprised,” he says honestly. “It’s cool.” And then, in an attempt at humour to smooth over any awkwardness: “Is Jersey so boring you started boning dudes?”

“Nah,” Taylor says, unmistakably relieved. “That’s been happening since Edmonton. Still mostly girls, but sometimes, just. You know. Can we keep that on the d/l?”

Jordan does _not_ know, but he makes a sound of agreement anyway, reeling. Because Taylor is his best friend, and if his best friend wants to bone dudes named Jonathan, then Jordan is going to be super supportive of it; that is what a best friend does. 

He’s so lost in thought that he only just realizes that Taylor is still talking—

“—a pretty good dude. I think you’d both, you know. Like him okay. It’d be...cool if you guys met him, you know?”

And that’s how, at the end of January, Jordan and Lauren find themselves in a cab that’s dropping them at the front door of Taylor’s new building, Lauren practically vibrating with pent up excitement with their impending reunion and at meeting Taylor’s _Jonathan_ ( _It’s not even serious or anything, c’mon!_ Taylor had whined on the phone when Lauren had enthused about meeting Taylor’s new _friend_ ). Not for the first time, Jordan thinks about how lucky he is that two of the most important people in life, besides their mutual tendencies toward the ridiculousness, are so invested in each other's happiness. By the time they’re buzzed in and have ridden the elevator up twenty-seven floors, Lauren’s almost sprinting down the hallway, Jordan trailing behind her with their bags slung over his shoulder.

“You made it!” Taylor says, pleased, when he flings the door to his unit open. “Hey!” He drags them both into the condo, simultaneously shutting the door and sweeping both Jordan and Lauren into a bear-hug with his freakishly long arms, squeezing tight. 

Jordan drops the bags to wrap his arms around Taylor as well, bro-hugs be damned. “Missed you,” he murmurs. Both Taylor and Lauren hum in agreement, little simultaneous sighs.

His bags get scooped up almost right away. “I’ll just get those out of the way for you,” a new voice pipes up, startling Jordan out of his contentment. The moment over, Jordan steps back and he notices someone else standing behind Taylor in the hallway. He’s taller than Jordan, in a hoodie and glasses and a crinkly smile. While definitely not a hockey player, he does look awfully familiar, though Jordan can’t quite place him.

Taylor’s grin gets even bigger. He takes two steps back and throws an arm around the other guy’s shoulders, and the guy seems to surreptitiously melt a little against Taylor’s side. “So uh. This is Jonathan. I was telling you about him? Jon, meet Ebby and Lauren.”

“Jordan,” Jordan says, shaking hands with Jonathan. He tilts his head when Jonathan greets Lauren, trying to rack his brain for where he’d seen this guy before—he’s pretty sure it’s not like Taylor’s ever posted pictures of him on social media or anything...

“But you can call him anything you want!” Lauren says in a breathless rush, the voice that always happens when she’s desperately trying to keep her shit together, seconds away from exploding into excited molecules. Jordan’s familiar with that voice: it’s just one of the seemingly endless number of things that she and Taylor have in common.

“Okay,” Jonathan says, unfazed. “It’s really nice to meet you finally! I’ve heard so much about you both, all good things!” he continues sincerely.

Lauren looks like she’s ready to expire of happiness. Taylor and Jordan share a look of confusion over her head.

Jonathan seems oblivious to all of this with an offer to take their bags to the guest room, and after one more blinding grin, does just that.

They wait until Jonathan’s out of earshot, before Taylor turns to them both and spreads out his arms. “So…” he trails off with barely concealed anxiety, the question hanging unfinished in the air.

Lauren’s eyes are blown wide. She grabs Taylor’s arm, digging in her fingers. “You’re dating _Melchior Gabor_?!” she hisses. 

Taylor crooks an eyebrow. “We’re not dating. And I don’t know who that is?”

Lauren flails her free hand in the air. “In your guest room! Holding my luggage!”

“I told you on the phone that I was kinda hanging out with someone named Jonathan!” he hisses back. “I don’t know who that other guy is!”

Suddenly, it all clicks into place in Jordan’s head. “Oh my god. That musical you were obsessed with when we were in high school. Is Jonathan in that?”

“Yes!” Lauren whisper-yells. “ _Melchior_! The _original_ Melchior! King of my heart and everything! And keep your voice down, he’s like ten feet away right now! Taylor, what the hell?!”

It all comes crashing back to Jordan now, the musical with the young people and the posters and GAP ads plastered all over Lauren’s childhood bedroom in Calgary, watching them and judging them every time they hung out in her bed and fooled around and even the first time they had sex, the subjects of all of Lauren’s daydreams that she always said involved Jordan but probably (totally) _actually_ involved the guy who’s been _sleeping in his best friend’s bed with his best friend_.

“Oh my god,” Jordan says again out loud. He needs to lie down or have a stiff drink. Or a sedative. Real life is very weird.

“He did a, like, singing play last year where he played an actual king from real life,” Taylor offers, in an attempt to mollify Lauren. “I didn’t see it but it’s supposed to be really good. Whit saw it. He liked it.”

“Well, most of it anyway,” Jonathan says, coming back into the hallway to join them. Taylor beams at him. “Didn’t he say something about how it would be better if the role of Boston had been, like, less under-represented in the musical?”

“ _Not enough Boston_ ,” Taylor says in his best imitation of Ryan at his surliest, Massachusetts accent and all. It’s surprisingly accurate and makes Jordan laugh despite himself.

Lauren, however, looks horrified. She addresses Jonathan in total disbelief, so floored that she can’t even pretend that she doesn’t know who exactly Jonathan is anymore. “Ryan Whitney?! Ryan Whitney saw _Hamilton_ on Broadway and then told you that there was ‘not enough Boston’?!”

“Oh, he’s totally entitled to his opinion, he seems to have a lot of those,” Jonathan says cheerfully. “Besides, he wasn’t saying it to me, he said it to Lin. Over the Skype.”

If possible, Lauren’s face turns even more ashen. “...Lin...Manuel Miranda?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “Lin thought it was funny though, promise.”

“I’m going to destroy Ryan, next time I see him,” Lauren says darkly. “I’m going to ruin him with the power of my mind and I’m going to hide the body so that no one will ever find him again and you’re all going to help me.”

“Well, if Ebby’s gonna be marrying you then he’s gotta help you cover your tracks,” Taylor says, trying not to laugh. “But I’ll help too, mostly because it’d be funny.”

“I don’t think I could help,” Jonathan says slowly, like he’s actually considering the logistics of all this. “I think I would get in too much trouble.”

“Because it would make Lea sad?” Taylor says.

“I don’t know if it would make her so much sad as, like...angry?” Jonathan says fondly. “But something like that, yeah. Anyway.” Another smile. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”

Jordan watches as Jonathan makes his way to the kitchen, at how comfortable he seems to be at navigating Taylor’s apartment, and pretends not to notice that both Taylor and Lauren are totally checking out Jonathan’s ass as he walks away. “Who’s Lea?” Jordan finally asks, if only to break the silence that tips into a moment too long as both his fiancée and his best friend shamelessly objectify the same man.

“Oh, hmm?” Taylor says, blinking rapidly and turning back to Jordan. “Uh, she’s one of Jon’s good friends, like an actor? She’s cool. She, like, kinda lowkey hangs out with Whit sometimes? Not like, dating, but, you know. They _hang out_ ,” he says meaningfully. “And complain about each other. A lot. Don’t tell him I told you that. Actually, don’t tell _anyone_ I told you about that.”

Lauren gasps. “Lea as in Lea _Michele_? And _Ryan_?”

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “Which is ridiculous, right? She’s so hot, and he’s so like... _Whit_. That guy, seriously.” He shakes his head in fond disbelief.

“She’s _so_ hot and talented, I want to _be_ her when I grow up! This is super unfair, Ryan Whitney is basically ruining my life right now,” Lauren says tragically. 

“But you _like_ Whit,” Jordan reminds her. He thinks back to the year when the three of them had lived together, no concern for personal space, as Ryan and Jordan and Taylor all piled onto the couch, with Lauren in between them on weekends when they had homestands and she was up from Calgary, to watch shitty television and judge infomercials with them. He’s suddenly almost overcome with nostalgia.

“I know! That’s the worst part! But he’s totally living my dream life! How is this even happening? Ryan saw _Hamilton_ and hangs out with Lea Michele! What do I have?”

“An engagement ring from a deece bro and my OVO hoodie?” Taylor volunteers, throwing a supportive arm around Jordan’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m getting that back eventually, eh?”

“Not anymore you’re not,” Lauren says. “I need something to cuddle to keep me warm at night against these new cruel injustices of the world.” She mock-pouts, but willingly ducks under Taylor’s other arm when he holds it out for her to press against his other side. “Missed you, loser. Even if your life _is_ so much cooler than mine right now.” She lowers her voice. “Also, Jonathan Groff is even cuter in person than on TV, what the hell! How did this even happen? Tell me everything!”

Taylor laughs and mumbles something in response that sets Lauren off, too—something about Jonathan having a billion and six friends, and how hard it is to keep up with it all. Jordan takes it all in, the bantering and bickering, content to just let it wash over him. This certainly isn’t the future he had imagined, but, when they finally find their way into the kitchen, Jonathan handing him a half-full wine glass over a knowing grin, clinking their glasses together, he think about how it’s not a bad one either, and thinks he can get used to this new normal.

(“So uh,” Jonathan says, later, after what they had seriously intended to be Very Quiet sex, what with Lauren and Jordan on the other side of the wall, though Taylor’s not entirely sure they’ve succeeded in the ‘quiet’ part of proceedings. “Ebby, as in puking-non-threesome Ebby? Does Lauren know about that?”

Taylor startles into laughing, trying to muffle himself against Jonathan’s shoulder. “Yeah, of course! Also, you were so wasted the night I told you, how the fuck do you even remember that?!”

Jonathan just grins, pulling up the comforter and settling in against Taylor.)

 

**eight.**

Jonathan’s making his way back into the restaurant after stepping out to take a call from his agent, when Luke suddenly materializes out of nowhere, abandoning Taylor to sit alone at the table. The three of them had decided that it was a good night to go out for dinner together if only to send obnoxious Snapchat selfies with dumb filters on Luke’s account to Connor McDavid, captioned with **_your blended family loves you_**. 

“Hey,” Luke says, his big paw landing on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Got a moment?”

“Sure. What’s up?” 

Luke seems to take a deep breath. “I know that you and Hallsy keep saying that you guys aren’t serious or whatever—”

“We’re not,” Jonathan says automatically, interrupting. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Luke says. “Anyway, dude’s basically my work wife, and having lived with him, I know that he used to fuck around a lot. Like a _lot_ a lot. I mean, besides the, like, month-long period he had a girlfriend. He didn’t fuck around on her. But the rest of the time.”

“O-kaaaaaay,” Jonathan says, drawing out the second syllable. “That’s...good for him, I guess?”

“I say ‘used to’ because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t anymore. Not for a while now, anyway.” Luke raises an eyebrow, loaded with meaning. “Self-imposed monogamy, pretty much.”

Jonathan looks surprised. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Luke confirms. “And that’s a pretty big deal, coming from him. And I know that he wasn’t going to say anything, so I’m saying it for him now to you because he’s my bro. Do with that information what you will.”

Jonathan considers Luke for a moment. “Well. The only relationships I’d want to do would be monogamous. So…”

“No,” Luke says. “Don’t tell me. I’m not the one who needs to know. Or wants to know, for that matter.”

Jonathan laughs. “Fair enough.”

Luke squeezes Jonathan’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Good talk, Groff. Oh, one more thing. I know that at this point you’re basically a national treasure? But I’m Canadian so I don’t care and I’m going to say it anyway: don’t fuck this up.”

“Understood. I’ll do my best,” Jonathan says, trying hard to sound more solemn than giddy.

“Good,” Luke says, steering Jonathan back inside the restaurant where Taylor’s probably wondering where they went. “I loved you in _Looking_ , by the way.”

 

**nine.**

A bunch of the Devils are going out for drinks post-afternoon charity skate at the Prudential Center—Taylor’s pulling on his toque, ready to follow when his phone buzzes; he pulls it out to look at it, distracted when Luke shoves him from behind.

“You’ve making a dumb face. I know that dumb face,” Luke informs him. “Groff?”

“Shut up,” Taylor says, but there’s no heat behind his words. “Listen, I know I said I would come out with the boys tonight, but…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Luke says, shoving him again. “Follow your heart. Other gross shit. I’ll let the boys know that you’re a huge disappointment who’s gotta scram for a booty call with a reasonable adult human.”

Which is how the night ends with Taylor back at his own apartment, spooning up against Jonathan on the couch (“So much bigger and more comfortable than mine,” Jonathan says happily, launching himself onto it, half-landing on Taylor) while they try to marathon _Scream Queens_ on Netflix, since Taylor figures he should learn about what exactly it is that Ryan’s been rage-live-Tweeting about recently, and Jonathan never passes up an opportunity to gush about Lea. 

Halfway through the third episode, Taylor’s not sure what overcomes him but finds his attention waning, focussing instead on the smooth pale skin of the back of Jonathan’s neck instead. He leans forward, mouthing sloppily at it as Emma Roberts shrieks loudly on screen.

Jonathan kind of smiles, half-distracted; rolls over to look at Taylor. “What was that for?”

Taylor pulls back, grins. “Just that, you know. You’re a hell of a guy. And you know I really got a thing for American guys.” He raises his eyebrows mischievously.

Jonathan regards him for a moment before bursting into delighted laughter, the television completely forgotten. “Was that Nicki Minaj lyrics? Did you just quote Nicki Minaj at me for no reason?”

“Not no reason. This is me at my most romantic,” Taylor says. “Nicki is my A-game.”

“I see,” Jonathan says, his back now completely turned to the TV. “And does that A-game extend to what was digging into my back just now, no pun intended. I assume you’re happy to see me?”

“Oh yeah,” Taylor says. “That was one hundo-p a boner.”

Jonathan laughs again. “Say that again. Seriously?”

“My boner,” Taylor repeats shamelessly. “Like full-on boner for you, bro.”

“I can’t believe I’m in a relationship with an adult who unironically uses the word ‘boner’ in 2017 and then followed it up by calling me ‘bro.’”

There’s a long moment’s pause, long enough that Jonathan’s face starts to fall a little, like maybe he’s worried he has misspoken, but then Taylor grins from ear-to-ear and reels him in even closer. “Better believe it,” Taylor happily informs him. “It’s happening and it’s gonna be lit!”

 

**ten.**

“Do you think your cool new American friends would sing at my wedding this summer?” Lauren asks, when Taylor picks up his phone after Drake’s second “started from the bottom.”

Taylor knows exactly what she’s angling at and decides to make her work for this one. “Whit’s American, and he’s never been cool a day in his life, so.”

“Don’t start. Ryan Whitney is currently dead to me,” Lauren says breezily.

Taylor laughs. “What did he do this time?”

“I asked him what it was like to kiss Lea Michele because she’s beautiful and perfect, and he said that she tastes like hairspray and spite because he’s a sacrilegious monster.” 

“And I need new friends, because you’re all a bunch of nons,” Taylor announces.

“Can you at least ask your bro-friend for me? Because you love me? Pleeeeeeease?” Lauren wheedles, ignoring Taylor’s interjection from just moments before.

“My _bro-friend_?!”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call him? You _are_ still hanging out with him, right?” Lauren wants to know. “Please still be hanging out with him. It’s almost like I’m getting to hook up with my high school crush by proxy.”

“You mean Groff? Yeah, we’re still seeing each other,” Taylor says.

“ _Seeing_ each other?” Lauren repeats. “That’s an upgrade from...oh my god, _Taylor_!” Her voice is climbing higher and higher, reaching almost high-pitched squeaking levels. “Oh my god! Are you tw—”

“—also, I thought Ebby was your high school crush,” Taylor interrupts.

“I thought Ebby was _your_ high school crush,” Lauren retorts, and then pauses. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean that, I’m so sorr—”

Too real, though oddly hilarious coming from Lauren—Taylor can never stay mad at her though, so he jumps in instead: “—I’m gonna stop you right there,” Taylor says. “Because I do love you but I’m going to hang up right now to save you from yourself.”

“Ask-your- _boy_ friend-to-sing-at-my-wedding!” Lauren shouts quickly into the phone before Taylor can hang up the call.

Taylor finds himself counting silently to ten in blissful silence, and then, despite himself, picking up the phone to text Jonathan anyway.

 

**eleven.**

There’s about a month left in the Devils’ slightly-better-than-average season when Taylor mutters something into Jonathan’s shoulder that sounds an awful like “You should come to one of our games.” Jonathan isn’t sure he heard him correctly, doesn’t ask him to repeat, and doesn’t agree or deny right away either—Jonathan, himself, has probably said all sorts of weird shit during sex over the years, so he can’t exactly fault Taylor for this one and decides to pretend he didn’t hear him for now, and keeps going.

It’s not until afterwards, when they’re huddled on one side of the bed, strategically avoiding the wet spot like champs—

(“Lazy jerks,” Jonathan corrects.

“Champs,” Taylor says again, spooning in tighter.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Jonathan says.

“No, just you,” Taylor says, so earnestly that Jonathan can’t help cackling loudly in response.)

—when Taylor brings it up again. “So?”

“So what?”

“Wanna come to a game? I mean, only if you want to. You don’t have to.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jonathan says incredulously. “Of course I would love to! I just didn’t think you were being serious!”

Taylor tries to mock-pout at him, but being a terrible liar and even worse actor, his unadulterated glee is both unmistakable and contagious.

(When Jonathan recounts the story the next morning to Lea via text message, she responds forty-six minutes later with a phone call: “I got us tickets for the hockey game in New Jersey next weekend. Hi!”

“What?!”

“Tickets. Hockey game. You know, the thing your boyfriend does professionally,” she says. She ratchets her voice up an octave: “ _Thank you, Lea! You’re the best friend slash best soul mate slash best present-giver a person could ask for, Lea!_ ”

Jonathan takes a deep breath, the endearment sitting warm and wonderful in the pit of his stomach. “Are you coming too? You’re not just going to send me there alone, right?”

“Yup,” Lea says. “Please note that I am willingly spending the evening at a hockey game in _Newark_ , instead of seeing _Les Miz_ again in the City, and you _know_ my feelings about the current _Les Miz_ cast! That is how much I love you. For you, I sacrifice.”

“That you do,” Jonathan says dryly. “Fuck.”

“What’s the problem, then?” 

“Well, I mean, it _would_ be fun to see Taylor in his element. And if there’s anyone who I want coming with me to lose my ice hockey virginity, I’m glad it’s you.”

“Obviously,” Lea says. “Well, me and like. A friend, sort of. Who I am totally inviting only because he, like, knows hockey so he can, like, know what’s going on and...tell us.”

Jonathan pauses for a long moment. “Lea,” he says, trying to keep the wobble of laughter out of his voice. “Is Ryan coming too?”

“For reasons that are practical only!” Lea says loudly, indignantly.

“Practical. Right,” Jonathan says.

Lea sighs loudly into the phone. “You’re terrible. You’re unsupportive and you’re sweaty. I’m revoking best friend privileges.” And then, one beat later, “Just kidding. But like actually, I invited him so we have, like, a hockey tour guide.”)

\--

“I swear to god if anyone asks, I was not the one to encourage this,” is the first thing Ryan says when he meets up with Lea and Jonathan before the game, shoving a jersey at Jonathan. “Lea made me buy it for you.” He turns to Lea: “You owe me.”

She ignores him, though subtly inching closer into Ryan’s personal space, migrating toward him as he reacts with the opposite of not-caring. 

Feeling very much like a third wheel, Jonathan unfurls the crumpled jersey, eying the emblazoned ‘Hall’ on the back, looking up again to eye Ryan and Lea questioningly.

Lea grins, does jazz hands. “Don’t you want to look the part? Go steady and wear his letter jacket?”

“Just do the thing,” Ryan adds. “Aren’t new boyfriends supposed to be disgustingly supportive or whatever?”

When Jonathan hesitates for a moment at the implications of putting on Taylor’s jersey, Lea just sighs, tugs it out of his hands, pulling it over his head and knocking his glasses askew. “Hey!” Jonathan protests.

“You were taking too long,” Lea says. “Plus, Ryan got me a New Jersey jersey too!” She unbuttons her jacket, sliding it off her shoulders and shoves it into Ryan’s arms to turn around and show Jonathan the bright red Henrique shersey she’s wearing. “Different guy, though. The cute one.”

“Taylor’s cute,” Jonathan insists. “Henrique. Adam, right? Taylor’s friend from high school?”

“Childhood friends,” Ryan says, nodding sagely. “So that she can be the, uh. Anita to your Maria.”

“Oh my god,” Jonathan says, turning to look between Ryan and Lea, his hesitation suddenly forgotten in this moment of utter delight to him. “Are you learning about musicals to impress Lea?”

“Nope,” Ryan says, and doesn’t clarify; Lea just rolls her eyes. 

“Well, what about _your_ jersey?” Jonathan wants to know. “Don’t you want to support the New Jersey Devils with us?”

Ryan laughs, complete bent-over-in-the-middle-of-the-stadium guffawing, for the next fifty-three seconds (Jonathan’s totally counting), before realizing that not only are Lea and Jonathan confused and not laughing, but that the expectation for an answer still hangs in the air. 

“Oh,” says Ryan, his laughter stopping as suddenly as it had started, righting himself. “You were serious. Yeah, ix-nay on that one, puckbunnies.”

Jonathan scrunches up his face. “Puckbunnies?”

“Hockey groupies,” Lea explains, still looking unimpressed.

“No shit? There’s a term for that?” Jonathan asks, almost incredulously. He turns to Lea. “I’m okay with that. This is who we are now. Also, how did you know that?”

“I know lot of things,” Lea says. “And speak for yourself, I love you but this time you’ve gone where I refuse to follow.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, you don’t count,” Lea throws out offhanded in Ryan’s direction. “You haven’t been a hockey player in, like, years!”

“I have an Olympic medal,” Ryan grumbles.

“Fancy. I’ll be your groupie, Ryan,” Jonathan says. “Your puckbunny, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says, his sarcasm belayed by the arm he throws around Jonathan’s shoulders. “I’ve waited my entire life for this truly stupid moment.”

Lea just huffs and leads the way toward their seats, Ryan and Jonathan ambling behind.

\--

Jonathan and Lea spend most of warm ups keeping up a steady stream of commentary that Ryan pretends to ignore, in the way that he’s totally interested and listening. He side-eyes them as they take selfies and Lea spends five minutes trying to pick the perfect filter for her Instagram, before thrusting her phone at Ryan and demanding that _he_ take their picture. On principle, Ryan makes sure that at least half of them are blurry.

“Jesus, hockey pants do nothing for these guys,” Jonathan mutters.

“Right?” Lea says. “Men in uniform, yay! Men in hockey uniform...jury’s still out.”

Jonathan tears his critical gaze from the ice to look over at Ryan. “Which one’s Taylor?” he asks. 

“The one who’s wearing the jersey that says ‘Hall’,” Ryan tells him, trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Jonathan hums tunelessly for a moment, squinting at the ice. “Oooh, right there! I like the rainbow part of his stick. Is that, like, tape? Do you get to choose your own colours?” 

Ryan sits up, so comically sudden that his drink almost knocks out of his own hand. “What?!”

Lea leans forward too. “Why does everyone else have white? Rainbow is so much more fun.”

“Holy shit, kids,” Ryan says, once exactly what he’s seeing registers with him. “That’s _pride tape_.”

Lea and Jonathan stare blankly at him.

Ryan grins wider. “I think Hallsy literally invited us to the world’s worst coming out party,” he translates.

By the time Ryan’s only halfway through his explanations about ‘You Can Play’ and pride tape, Jonathan’s eyes are already welling up and spilling over, and Lea’s Snapchatting his tears with the caption **_new jersey makes him cry jk jk we love you new jersey!!!_** before reaching over to pet his hair. Not for the first time, Ryan wonders when this became his life and supposes that it’s not so bad, as he tries to suppress the affection welling in his chest for Taylor, because feelings that are not rooted in rage or disgust are stupid.

“Are you okay?” Ryan finally asks Jonathan, Lea still petting him like an indulgent cat-owner.

“He’s fine,” Lea says, unconcerned. “This is just, like, his superpower, good things _or_ bad things, just all crying all the time.”

Jonathan swipes a hand over his eyes and kind of laughs ruefully. “I’m fine, I’m just, like, so _proud_ and happy for him,” he says earnestly, breath hitching a little.

Lea makes a _you see?_ gesture in Jonathan’s direction, which just seems to make him laugh a little harder.

 

**twelve.**

Though Taylor switches back to the boring white tape for the game, there’s almost no mistaking what Taylor’s warm-up tape situation _was_ —almost, because _The Hockey News_ sees Lea’s social media pictures from the game and insists that Taylor’s tape situation is in reference for his alleged new girlfriend’s work with the LGBTQ community, and what a supportive dude he is.

(“Ugh,” Lea says with great feeling, and both Ryan and Jonathan laugh at her.)

Despite all the speculation, Taylor ends up giving the first kind-of interview about coming out-sorta to Ryan for his podcast. There’s a great irony in talking about it first on a Barstool Sports-adjacent vehicle, but Taylor’s always been kind of a go-big-or-go-home kind of guy, so maybe it’s not that weird after all.

He talks about how the Devils have known for a while now, how most, but not all, of the team and staff was supportive, though everyone was professional about it; how he wasn’t out, but was never _not_ -not out, but how it personally had started to feel weird with the important people in his life, to not let them know. “Girls, mostly,” he finds himself saying, explaining. “But then the right dude comes along. You know.”

“So uh. So the right bro came along, then?” Ryan asks, after off-side having made sure at least six times that this is what Taylor had wanted.

“Sorta?” Taylor says. “There’s someone, anyway. He’s pretty all right. So why not?”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Ryan says dryly.

(Taylor doesn’t say who the guy is, but the internet figures it out anyway, mostly from Lea’s Instagram and the obscured ‘9’ on the jersey that Jonathan’s wearing in the photo from the Prudential Centre, since it likely was not a Travis I-have-a-wife-and-multiple-children-with-plans-for-many-more-yay-nuclear-family Zajac jersey.

“Oops,” Lea says, not sounding very apologetic at all; Taylor and Jonathan just kind of turn to each other and shrug.)

 

**thirteen.**

For the most part, as long as the Devils are doing okay and Taylor’s playing well enough, Jersey fans don’t really seem to care one way or another about Taylor’s bisexuality. One of the benefits of playing for a smaller market, Taylor supposes. The organization does its best to shield him from the worst of the scrutiny and noise, and Taylor learns to stop checking his mentions on Twitter. Slowly, things start to evolve, fade into the background: he still scores goals, does community service shit for the Devils; he’s still one of the guys.

It’s not perfect: sometimes, he can hear shit-talking from opposing teams in ways that he’s never heard before and phone calls with his father have gotten kind of stilted, not bad, just awkward, but that’s something new, too.

“Was it weird for you too when you came out?” Taylor asks Jonathan, while half-watching the televised Canadian feed for the Jets/Islanders match-up, half-playing on his phone.

Jonathan shrugs, slouched on one side of Taylor’s couch, poring over a new script. “Sort of, in some ways. But I was doing theatre, so it was pretty different than what you’re doing now, you know?” He looks up, offers a sincere and sympathetic smile. “It does kinda get better and all that shit though, I promise.” 

Taylor nods; goes back to fiddling on his phone while the last five minutes of the first period plays out on the TV, segueing into the first intermission.

“Who’s that?” Jonathan asks, suddenly, pointing at the television screen, script forgotten. “The shouting man, I mean.”

Taylor looks up, smiles. “That’s Don Cherry, he’s super famous in Canada. He used to be a coach.”

“I think he said he was going to talk about you?” Jonathan says, like it’s a question.

Taylor groans. “Oh my god, turn it off, mute it, it’s going to be fucking terrible, I bet.”

He’s reaching for the remote, but Jonathan’s reaching out to still his hand: “Wait!” Jonathan says.

“—my thoughts,” Don Cherry’s yelling. “Look, I don't care what people do or don't do off the ice, he’s a good Kingston boy! I said—you find the tape—when he was fifteen I said this kid is gonna be something!” He’s turning to address Ron, his sidekick. “I was talking to Bobby Orr, the _great_ Bobby Orr, just last week, you know what he said to me?”

“What did he say, Don?”

“He said ‘Don, he’s a good role model for the kids!’” Don Cherry shouts. “And the Great Bobby Orr, he knows a thing or two about being a role model, don’t he? And that Taylor Hall, makes his teammates better when he’s on the ice and he’s on pace for a good number this season! Including the beauty from last night! Do we got that tape, the tape of me telling you like it is, that Taylor Hall kid’s gonna be something? We got that ready to go? Roll the tape!"

Taylor does end up muting the television at this point, as Coach’s Corner runs a tape from almost a decade earlier, Don Cherry in an equally terrifying outfit shouting about the talent of a teenaged Taylor Hall. He turns to Jonathan, who looks utterly delighted. “Well. That...definitely went better than I expected.”

“That was some super confusing shouting, but his suit was great,” Jonathan says decisively. “And I’m glad that he’s still a fan of you. His shouting made him seem really important. Who’s Bobby Orr?”

“Uh, an amazing hockey player who used to play for Don Cherry,” Taylor says, still reeling from the fact that he apparently has the support of Coach’s Corner. “Also, my agent. That was actually...really awesome of both of them, actually.”

“See? Your big deal agent _and_ a famous Canadian shouting man on television!” Jonathan says cheerfully. He reaches over and squeezes Taylor ankle. “It’s getting better already.”

 

**fourteen.**

Life goes on: Taylor spends the summer commuting between Ontario and New York, doing PSAs for You Can Play, working out, and clothing-optional lounging around Jonathan’s apartment. In turn, Jonathan moves back to New York City to rehearse for a short-run show, catches up with friends, and implements his list of surfaces that he and Taylor should fuck on in the apartment—the list isn’t particularly long, so they're already cycling through it for the third time but neither of them seems to mind.

They go to Phillipa’s wedding together, where a terribly jet-lagged Lin shows up too and, because he’s fearless and reckless and pocket-sized, threatens Taylor about not fucking up his “courtship with Broadway royalty.” 

Jonathan can feel the tips of his ears turning red at that, but Lin doesn’t seem to notice, plodding on with zeal: “I'm just saying I know people now. Disney people. I got some real good lawyers on my side, if you get my drift.”

“Please stop trying to sound intimidating. I don’t think it’s working for you,” Jonathan tells Lin, halfway to mortified.

Ignoring Jonathan’s embarrassment, Lin grabs Taylor by the elbow in response and hauls him off for a long chat. Lin returns twenty minutes later with a huge grin and announces to Jonathan that he has his new musical idea, and did Jonathan think anyone would be interested in a full-length musical about the history of the Memorial Cup championships between 1998 and present?

(Jonathan has no idea how to answer that.)

Taylor’s mom flies down to Hoboken for a weekend, still a little salty from her only child’s executive decision to spend most of his summer in the states. Jonathan takes her to New York City, plying her with fancy food and charming her with stories about growing up half-Mennonite on a farm with goats and horses and hay bales, Taylor trailing along behind them. By the time Taylor’s driving her back to the Newark airport, she’s already completely won over and in full approval of Taylor’s new boyfriend.

(“You’re _Mennonite_?!” Taylor asks Jonathan incredulously, later.)

As the summer shuffles on, Jonathan starts travelling more for work, shooting a new project on location; shows up unannounced at Taylor’s condo, once, to find Taylor guiltily jerking off to one of the episodes of Jonathan’s Netflix series. (“It’s not my fault,” Taylor whines, when Jonathan catches him and just laughs and laughs and laughs instead of getting naked immediately or coming over for a kiss. “Those pants they put you in were so tight and made your ass look so good.”)

They fly up to Calgary for Jordan and Lauren’s wedding—Taylor’s very interested in generously assisting Jonathan in joining the mile-high club in the tiny bathroom stall; they settle for a quiet and surprisingly subtle handjob under a scratchy travel blanket instead. At the wedding, both Jordan and Lauren look almost even more excited to see Taylor than the fact that they’re about to marry each other because his best friends may be nerds but they are absolutely the _best_ nerds. Jonathan does come through and obliges Lauren by singing at the reception with Lea, who shows up totally not as Ryan’s plus one, a little on edge after having recently given up caffeine and alcohol, with no explanation or precedence.

“Mom!!!” Connor comes barrelling over at the reception shamelessly, his tie loose and flapping, shortly after the open bar and dance floor open up. He throws himself at Taylor, all one hundred and ninety-five pounds of himself, and cackles when Taylor staggers back under the weight. “You’re here! I’m here! My _girlfriend_ is here! Dad’s here and my new step-dad’s here, and _Rachel Berry_ ’s here too!”

Taylor looks over to where Lea is absolutely holding court, surrounded by Lauren’s bridesmaids and younger cousins and a shy looking girl in what looks like a shiny prom dress, who Taylor vaguely recognizes as Connor’s girlfriend, hanging on to every word Lea’s saying. “And Ebs and Lauren got hitched. Also, you’re drunk. How are you drunk? It’s eight PM!”

“And Ebs and Lauren got hitched!” Connor repeats, so giddy with pure joy that Taylor can’t help but throw his arm around Connor’s shoulders and get swept up in the excitement as well. “I’m so...I’m having feelings, Mom. Everything is so fuckin’ great tonight! I’m so… _happy_!” He turns to squint at Taylor, his face suddenly comically, exaggeratedly serious. “Are _you_ happy?”

Taylor laughs, thinks about it. “You know what, Devo? I am,” he says honestly. “I’d be happier if you’d mix in a water with the booze though, you light-weight. Make me and your dad proud by getting some water in you so you don’t wake up feeling like hot garbage tomorrow morning, eh?”

“Okay!” Connor agrees cheerfully, letting himself be pulled along by Taylor. “Man, you’re, like, a grown up. And such a good mom. The _best_ mom! Except for, like, my actual mom.”

(Despite Taylor’s best efforts, by the time Connor and Jonathan meet for the very first time in person, later that night, Connor is completely wasted—Jonathan seems to find him charming anyway, and tells Taylor as much later in their hotel room, between trying to fumble open the buttons on Taylor’s dress shirt and toeing off his shoes. Taylor just laughs.)

 

**fifteen.**

Taylor’s putting on his shoes while Jonathan fiddles with his phone at the door, waiting for Taylor to do up his laces so they can go out for brunch, when Jonathan suddenly blurts out, without preamble: “Do you wanna come home with me and meet my parents?”

Blindsided, Taylor’s not sure how to respond “To the goat farm?”

Jonathan looks sheepish now. “To the goat farm, yeah. I know that seems kind of sudden and weird.” He’s talking quickly now, like he’s nervous. “And you don’t have to? But I think they’d like to meet you. And I don’t think it’ll be weirder than, like, meeting your family.”

“My mom’s not weird,” Taylor says, his brow furrowing as he straightens up.

“Oh, no, no!” Jonathan says immediately, reaching for Taylor. “No, your mom’s great! I actually meant, you know, Luke and my step-son.”

 _That_ much is true; Taylor laughs. “Good point,” he concedes. “They’re both pretty weird.”

Jonathan licks his lips, quiet for a moment like he’s thinking of the right thing to say. “It’s just. I haven’t taken a guy home in years. You know?”

He’s watching Taylor carefully now for a reaction, hopeful and earnest; it’s a loaded question, heavy and serious. But in a year of change and strangeness, Taylor thinks about how Jonathan’s been through it all with him, a point of consistency and normalcy when the rest of the world seemed to be tilting in weird ways.

And if that’s the case, how can Taylor not want to take this chance. He likes having Jonathan in his life, wants to be a part of his, too.

So Taylor catches his fingers in Jonathan’s belt loops, reels him in, looks him in the eye. Means to say _yes_ , when what he says instead is, “...even if your parents end up hating me, do I get to hold a goat? Like a real life goat? Not a mean one, though.”

Jonathan smiles, like he understands everything Taylor’s not saying. “Yeah, for sure,” he says fondly. “If you want to, you can hold a goat.”

 

**[end]**

**Author's Note:**

> please to be having [a playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqaGZYDGcUw&list=TLGGDIpRuhAOgcYyMjExMjAxNg). (and [a bonus track](http://lizlemon.co.vu/post/147525427766), too!)
> 
> no ragrets (only regrets).


End file.
